I was in Girl Scouts from kindergarten to my senior year of high school. Before you say, “Wait, Panda, does that mean that all the dudes loved you and you were incredibly popular?”, remember that I was also in Madrigals. I think that’s probably all the answer you need. But seriously, my GS troop was pretty cool. We took fun trips and got cool badges. Imagine us as a cross between the baby-sitter’s club and Troop Beverly Hills (Not Tori Spelling’s troop, Shelly Long’s troop). And then put us in a church basement.
Or, in 1994, at a hibachi restaurant. We were having our annual Mother/Daughter Troop Dinner. My mom was out of town on business, but she was supposed to get in before the dinner started. So, I put on my sweet Brownie uniform, replete with knee sock tassels and got ready to get shrimp thrown at me.
This part may truly shock you, but the airlines were not running efficiently and my mom was delayed. If you are nine and your mom can’t attend the Annual Mother/Daughter Troop Dinner, it’s pretty much the end of the world. But because my dad is awesome, he stepped up and offered to go.
Most men would balk at having to go to a dinner with twenty prepubescent girls and their moms, but not my dad. He is sensitive and secure enough to be totally cool with this; at least from my perspective. Probably it was more that he loved me a lot and hibachi even more.
Just kidding. My real mom showed up, just before dinner was actually served. She was in full on frenzy mode, full of guilt for missing the Annual Mother/Daughter Troop Dinner and full of hunger for delicious stir-fry.
Because my dad is a gentleman, he offered my mom his seat and his meal and headed back home to eat rice and beans in front of the television. My mom likes to tell that story as an example of what a really great guy my dad is. I like to tell it as an example of how much my parents love me. And my dad likes to tell it as the time he got to escape planning how to talk to the troop about our periods and changing bodies.